


Tethered

by BeneathTheWillowTree



Category: Warehouse 13
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 21:55:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27883375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BeneathTheWillowTree/pseuds/BeneathTheWillowTree
Summary: Beginning of a new relationship...
Relationships: Myka Bering/Helena "H. G." Wells
Comments: 5
Kudos: 19





	Tethered

The screen door groans softly as it opens and shuts with a sudden smack of wood on wood. Without looking, you can tell who approaches by the sound of firm, quick steps on the worn porch boards. The footsteps stop, close. The scent of jasmine hangs in the warm air, stirring with the soft breeze, and you inhale the sweet aroma deeply. Your eyes are closed and your face turned up toward the late-afternoon sun, its persistent warmth soaking into your skin. Slowly turning towards that place where the sound of the approaching footsteps have stopped, you open your eyes and smile at the lithe figure standing before you holding 2 glasses of lemonade. You notice her slight intake of breath as your gaze meets hers - the initial raw curiosity in her appraisal of you, followed with a sudden uncertainty that flashes in her dark eyes and the softest hint of color rising from her collarbones and flushing cheeks. She wets her lips and they part slightly, as if to speak, then her mouth suddenly spreads into a slow, deep smile as she extends a glass toward you with the slightest nod. You reach up and grasp the glass firmly, its sides slippery with condensation; and as her hand withdraws you find it's your turn to choke down a soft gasp as her wet fingers slide softly alongside your own. The glass is cold, nevertheless an electric heat races through your arm from that grazing touch. The ice clinks softly as you sip the cool nectar, willing it to cool the unanticipated heat rising in your veins.

She makes no directional move. She stands still, close to you gazing into the trees bordering the grassy backyard. You contemplate the sylph-like figure before you, sure that if you were to avert your gaze she would flit away with the next stirring breeze. She closes her eyes and her body relinquishes some of the work-week tension as she lifts her face toward the sun and inhales deeply – the heady scent of jasmine hanging in the air. A soft sun-gold glow wraps around her, and you notice as the breeze gently runs its fingers through her hair that her dark locks have faint red undertones. You fight the sudden compelling desire to reach out and touch this new discovery, to feel the weight of her dark locks in your hands and bury your face into her silken mane - drinking the scent of her. An intoxicating, familiar ache spreads in your chest – threatening to steal away your breath. This time, instead of immediately pushing it away as you've done countless times before, you decide to welcome it and it roots deep in the center of your breast. Its presence feels so much like home that you wonder why you had ever tried to push it away in the first place. Matthew Arnold's poem is quietly running through your mind as you study her, enraptured. … “Come to me in my dreams, and then by day I shall be well again! For so the night will more than pay the hopeless longing of the day...” You manage to stifle a soft groan before it escapes your lips, knowing all to well about unspoken longing, but inexplicably you find you've no control over your hand and reach out to softly brush your fingers along her wrist and hand that hangs loosely at her side.

The panic rising in your mind at this impetuous touch quickly dissipates as she slowly turns her head and smiles. Oh, delightful smile! There is a sweet dawning of discernment that this is your smile – a smile she bestows on you and you alone. This realization leaves you weightless with a sudden blossoming hope. You bask in this resplendent smile and the manifold promises it portends, the many things you dare dream it declares without the uttering of words. She cocks her head in question and you softly brush the cushion next to you, smoothing out an imaginary wrinkle. She deftly maneuvers onto the seat, and while it is large enough to accommodate at least one more body, she sits close to you – almost touching. You have tucked your legs up on the bench, one bent and lying on the seat, the other bent and hugged close to your chest. Leaning awkwardly, you place your half-empty glass on the porch rail next to the one she had discarded moments before. Straightening your back, you let your arm slip to your side and your hand rests on the cushion near hers – almost, but not quite touching. She looks at you, that soft smile on her lips, and you try to remember to breathe as her eyes wander from your loosely pulled back hair, along your bare arms, and rest on the soft fluttering of the ruffled hemline of your muslin dress against your bare legs. She reaches out and softly tugs the edge of a ruffle, her head tilting and eyes filled with amused questioning - it's not your usual raiment, and it seems to bring her delight to discover this new element about you. You return her questioning look with the slightest shrug and self-conscious smile.

Her hand lingers at the hem of your dress a moment longer, then withdraws – the back of her fingers caressing your shin. You are almost certain the caress is on purpose, and your mind swirls with faint possibilities and inexpressible yearnings. You don't know how it's possible, for someone with near-black eyes, but her brazen gaze darkens deeper as her hand falls back to the cushion beside yours – almost, but not quite, touching. You fall into the deep well of her sultry gaze until you are sure you will drown in their opaque depths. Overwhelmed and flustered, you turn and look out toward the trees, not quite seeing as you quell the urge to bolt from your perch, unsure if this is some new game and even less sure that you would be adept at playing. The swing begins to gently sway. You continue to watch the trees, willing your muscles to relax.

The two of you sit like this; not speaking, not quite touching. You've known for a while that new, yet familiar things are taking shape in “that space, clear and un-peopled” between you. You almost laugh out loud as Rilke's “Possibility of Being” comes to your mind in this moment. You realize you are drunk on that thought – that possibility of being... with her. And you don't know where to go from this point or how to cross the expanse from the possibility of, to the actual being – so you stay still and try to order your unruly thoughts. Time passes unperceived as you've both sat with the gentle rock of the swing and soft caress of the summer breeze and warm sun, fully immersed in the crescendo of need and desire suspended between you.

You turn back to her now, resting a warm cheek on your knee and watching her face unabashed. Her gaze is far away at first, lost in thought, but you see the surprise dance in her eyes as she realizes you are gazing at her and smiling. And now it is she who looks afraid of drowning or fracturing under your perusal. Impetuously, you giggle and grasp her hand in yours; bounding to your feet and pulling her slight form with you, you tug her gently toward the steps that lead down into the backyard, and flashing an impish grin you drop her hand and deftly skip down the stairs. You hear her startled gasp as you take off and glance over your shoulder to see that she follows, recovered from her initial surprise and willingly taking up the frivolous game you've just started. You race across the yard, not at full speed yet fast enough to arrive slightly panting at the tree line as you pause to look back. You shriek heartily as she approaches you, reaching to grasp hold of you. She nearly catches some of the fabric of your dress and lets out a guttural growl as you pull free and turn to break into the trees – following the faintly worn path you typically wander alone. You hike up your dress, keeping it from snagging on branches and brush as your long legs race up the path, and lead her through the woods like a playful tree sprite. She comes close but doesn't quite catch you – laughter echoing through the woods as you lead her toward the spot you've decided to reveal.

You burst through the trees into the open meadow and turn so you can watch her face as she breaks the tree-line. You are not disappointed. She bursts through the tree line, her face full of carefree mirth and delight, nearly crashing into your still form. She manages to stop short in sudden surprise, her gaze darting first to your expectant face, then slowly turning to take in the full scene before her. You are both softly panting from your run through the woods, and she exhales a soft “Oh!” as her gaze returns to rest on your face, a awe-filled toothy grin on her own visage. And now it is Lord Byron whispering in the back of your mind: “she walks in beauty, like the night of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright meet in her aspect and her eyes...” You know you are grinning like some silly fool, and you hook your arm through hers and draw her toward the edge of a brook, hoping she will feel the magic that resides in your quiet contemplative spot. This is the place where the brook slows and widens, and you walk her slowly to the edge where a flat rock juts out just above the water's surface, creating the perfect ledge for sitting. She lets you draw her through the soft grass and onto the slight outcrop, taking in the sight of rainbow hued wild-flowers that dot the meadow in clusters and clumps – softly swaying in the afternoon breeze.

A startled frog plunks into the brook as you approach the edge of the outcropping and you hike up your skirt again as you bend down to loosen the straps of your sandals. She is still standing, looking out over the brook and into the field of tall grasses and wild flowers – watching a stray bird swoop past and listening to the quiet buzz of busy honey bees among the flowers. You study her awe-struck face until she looks down at you quizzically. You touch the strap of her sandal, raising a questioning eyebrow and her hand flutters to her neck, pulling at the gold chain nestled against her skin in that unconscious nervous gesture she affected long ago – long before you. She nods assent and you make quick work of removing her sandals as she deftly shifts her balance from foot to foot.

You sit and slide your feet into the cool water of the brook, leaning back and delighting in the feel of the water flowing slowly across your legs, the warmth emanating from the sun-bathed rock beneath you. You look up at her supple form suddenly feeling small beneath her curious examination. You smile and hope it looks as inviting as you mean it to look, nodding slightly at the the place beside you and you are rewarded as she flashes your special smile and sinks onto the rock close to you – almost touching. You both sit, swirling your feet in the cool water and listening to the wind play among the trees, dancing with the tall grasses and wild flowers. She leans forward, clutching the edge of the rock to peer over the edge and into the clear water at her feet. You copy her movements but as you lean forward and grasp the rock, your fingers accidentally overlap – she makes no move to pull away and neither do you. She turns to peer at your face, and her foot grazes yours in the water. You flash your mischievous smile and hook your foot under hers, pulling it towards yourself. Giggling, she unhooks her foot and swoops it under yours, inching closer to you in the process. You let her swing your foot in the water for a moment, and lean to bump her bare shoulder.  
Laughing, she clasps your hand and draws it to her lap while and moves until her upper thigh presses into yours and leans into your shoulder. You settle, enjoying the press of her thigh on yours, her warm hand clasping yours, feet entwined in the water, and observing the tranquil scene set before you. You can't seem to cease the palpitations in your chest and when you turn your gaze toward her, you find her intently studying your face. You are transfixed by her gaze. Her face transfigures, a soft and wistful look flutters across her features and your hand lifts unbidden to gently brush away a stray strand of dark hair from her cheek. She inhales sharply at the touch and wets her lips, reaching over to tuck a feral, unruly curl behind your ear. Unlike your hand, however, hers does not drop back into her lap but delicately traces the line of your jaw to your chin, leaving a trail of fire on your skin. You gasp as her fingers retrace the line and her hand slips behind your neck, gently pulling you close until your foreheads are touching. You stay like this for a moment, the feel of her soft warm breath on your skin and the press of her thigh along yours – longing to drown in her touch. Tentatively, you slide you hand up her bare arm, across her shoulder and neck – drawing a shuddering breath from her lips, and you pause to cup her cheek in your hand. Your thumb strokes her high cheekbones and you are now certain she must hear the hammering coming from your chest. You are so close – touching.

She pulls back enough to be able to see your face clearly, searching for hesitation or rejection in your countenance. Her look is raw with an unusual vulnerability naked in her gaze. She rests her head against yours again, her hot breath coming in short bursts as your hand slides to feel her racing pulse beneath your fingers. If it were possible to do more, your own would quicken in response to finding her desire rise, instead you feel a heat spread throughout your body, electrifying your skin and wetting your thighs. You groan with the density of your yearning, filling this space between you both with a ravenous craving.

“Myka?” she whispers against your lips. You feel yourself irrevocably fracture with that one apprehensive question, seeking permission.  
“Please, Helena... Please,” you exhale into that hollow space between your lips and hers.

Her lips graze delicately against yours, drawing a groan from deep within your core. You try to press into her lips and she withdraws slightly, eliciting a frustrated whine from your lips. You can feel her smile as she whispers, “Patience, darling.”

You have no will of your own anymore, so you wait in considerable anticipation for what may follow next. You are rewarded with a soft rainfall of kisses across your cheeks and there is no thinking anymore, merely descent into the feel of her hands caressing your shoulders and trailing soft dewy kisses on the bare skin where she touches. Her hands playing along your collarbone with an electric fire then glide to the nape of your neck where they entangle in your curls. You are hesitant and unsure of yourself, never having experienced this passionate caress, and eager to respond but mistrustful of your appetite. She senses your hesitation and her hands wander down your warm arms, lifting one of your hands towards her face, pressing a kiss on the back of your hand, then turning it over she proceeds to press her soft lips to each of your fingertips before pressing a kiss into your palm. She looks up into your eyes, searching your face for your reaction, and while still gazing at you she presses her supple lips to your wrist where you feel them part slightly. There is the hot, wet press of her tongue and gentle nip of her teeth against your sensitive skin. Her desire for you is palpable, making you feel both inconsequential and immense in that moment.

Your free hand comes up behind her neck, interweaves in her hair and you draw her lips toward yours with urgent need. She doesn't resist or pull back this time and your lips crush hers with the pressure of your pent up longing. You boldly nip her bottom lip, relishing the immediate quickening of breath and tightened grasp it elicits in response. Suddenly you realize that you are close but not close enough and with uncharacteristic boldness, you've pulled your legs from the water and manipulated your body so that you are straddling her lap and cradling her face in your hands. She pulls you back slightly so that you are both out of the water and not in danger of falling off the ledge. You hold her face in your hands, search for further license. Her hands tightly grasp your waist and forcibly pull your full weight onto her upper thighs. Your hands roam along her shoulders and neck, hers on your back pressing your torsos together. She plants small kisses along your collarbone and the soft flesh of your neck. Her hair brushes against the soft swell of your breasts, causing you to whimper as she covers your mouth in satiny kisses.

Her name is a mantra in your mind, “Helena, Helena, Helena, Helena...” the only thought you can bear at the moment. It doesn't register that you are vocalizing this mantra until you feel the firm massaging of her hands at your back. Her hand slips up to your neck and draws your ear to her lips as she croons, “It's okay, Darling, it's okay...” She holds you firm until the intensity of your passion subsides and your breath comes in deep, measured draws instead of inflamed gasps. You bury your face against her neck and bury your hands in her thick hair, inhaling deep to take in the scent of her. You realize you had some general expectation that she'd smell sweet like the jasmine around the B&B and ecstatically discover that her scent is reminiscent of frankincense and myrrh – fragrantly warm and spicy. She allows you to pull back slightly and you slowly trace her features – willing yourself to memorize the feel of beautiful face beneath your fingertips – and she patiently indulges your exploration with soft sighs, never loosening her grasp on your waist.

“Kisses now, my beloved,” she softly demands. You wonder if she knows how the sound of her accent raises a searing liquid heat in your belly. You comply eagerly, sprinkling kisses across her brow and cheeks, trailing her jaw and onto the soft pink flesh of her lips. She trembles beneath your ministrations. You want to continue trailing kisses along her neck and across the exposed swell of her breasts but she holds you tightly to her body, denying you further purchase of her flesh. Frustrated, you pull back from her slightly. And now, as you hover above her lips, it is she that urgently entreats, “Oh Myka, please,” her fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips. You press insistently into her lips and feel their soft skin yielding and parting beneath your own. You begin the gentle exploration of her mouth, tentatively pressing into her yielding heat, trying to prolong the exquisite pain of your mutual lascivious devotion. She lets you explore the wet heat of her mouth, you tongue slipping over her tongue, teeth, lips – pressing into her as if you could wrap yourself inside her body. She opens to you as your breath mingles with hers and you can't tell where you end and she begins. She pulls back to look into the desire-storm, dark green depths of your eyes, catching your bottom lip gently in her teeth. Her eyes flash playfully as she hears your surprised cry of delight, and gently nips a trail along the supple skin of your neck. You shudder, a willing supplicant, beneath her besieging lips.

With a groan bordering on a growl, she pulls you tight to her body and rolls you onto your back pressing you into the ground and laying her full weight on you - her tender hands cradling your head. Her hair falls around you like a wispy curtain and you reach up to run your fingers through the thick locks, relishing their silky feel and soft reddish tones. You grin timidly and she offers a provocative smile, pressing her form against yours. In response, you wrap your legs around hers, pressing your heels into the back of her thighs and are rewarded with a groan and her salacious mouth seeking entry to yours. You open greedily to her kiss, taking in her exploring tongue and giving in return – lost in waves of sensation and intense heat swelling in your core. She shifts her weight above you, leaning on one of her forearms and you whimper in protest but she presses her tongue deeper into your mouth and the whimper changes to a longing-filled moan. At this moment, when you think there is no more heat she could possibly draw from your body, you feel her hand caressing your neck and the heat rises beneath your skin to meet her touch. Her fingers trace a lazy trail to your shoulder and play with the thin straps of your summer dress. Your skin erupts with an intense fire that spreads through your veins.

Her hands continue exploring and through the thin fabric of your muslin dress, you can feel her fingers graze the side of your breast. Your body instinctively responds, arching toward the slight pressure but her hand doesn't linger and with an aching deliberateness she caresses and massages down your torso - fingering your ribs, softly tickling your side, and pausing to play at your hip. Wherever her fingers travel, your body rises to meet their touch and presses against her nimble form. Her mouth unceasingly devours yours; and you can't remember if you know how to breathe or if you are simply living off the air she offers. When her hand leaves a scorching trail across your tender skin in its journey from your hip to the knee, you cry out in astonished ecstasy. She stills her movements, waiting for you to regain some composure before demanding entry to your mouth again. Deliberately heavy and slow, she presses her hand along the trail up your thigh again, her fingers occasionally pressing into your muscled flesh, betraying her own heightened yearning for you. She lingers at the dress fabric pooled around your hips, twisting and bunching and pulling at the fabric as she passionately claims your mouth - building the heat in your core. She purposefully slides her hand along your warm flesh to brush and massage the soft swell of your bottom. Your wanting has grown too vast to hold and you cry out against her mouth as your body shatters with intense climax, arching under her weight. She responds with gentle kisses skimmed across your closed eyelids, pressed across your nose and cheeks and trailing the tear that escapes down your cheek, finally brushing your lips with a tender caress.

Her weight has shifted slightly, taking pressure off of your body and allowing you space to breath and cool your overheated flesh. Unusually apprehensive, you are reluctant to open your eyes – fearful she'll disappear like a wisp of smoke; or worse yet, detect disappointment or regret in her brown-black eyes. You are irrationally frightened of losing this delightful newness; however, as you descend from your unexpected climax, you feel the soft pants of her breath across your face as she lingers above you – unable to further deny the ache to look at her, you open your eyes. Her own face reflects some of your apprehension and mingles with a look of adoration and wanton joy in her eyes and skittish smile. You notice her own cheek is stained with a tear and you trace its path with trembling fingers, awestruck. She turns her head to gingerly press a kiss into your palm and you are undone by her tenderness, a sob breaks from your chest. She shifts her weigh nimbly, drawing you both on your sides and pulling you closer into an embrace. You bury your face into her neck, the tears flowing to wet her skin as she strokes your back and presses soft kisses into the curls sticking to your temple.

Finally, with a sigh you raise your head. Her hand reaches up to stroke your wet cheek and slowly draws you close for a chaste kiss. You want to lay with her longer, but realize the sun is slipping toward the horizon. With another sigh you slowly stand, offering your hand to help her up. She doesn't really need it, but she takes it and you pull her up and into your body. You sweep her hair from her shoulder, removing a stray strand of grass and let your hands slowly wander down to her waist, hooking your fingers in a belt loop on her shorts and planting another teasing peck on her lips. Smiling with a wicked glint in her eye, she gently brushes at the skirt of your dress, loosening the bits of earth and grass stuck to the fabric, brushing her fingers against your thighs and backside. Entwining her fingers in yours, you draw her towards the path back to the B&B taking a slower, meandering path.

“Myka?” she whispers hoarsely, tugging your hand and pausing as you near the tree line at the edge of the backyard. Not willing these stolen moments to end just yet, you draw her back slowly until you feel the hard press of your back against a large tree. Leaning her body into yours, her mouth hovers over you, asking permission, and you tilt your chin in acquiescence. She crosses the small span between you to seize your mouth with a quavering and possessive kiss. You ache with greedy need for her possession and melt into her intoxicating kiss until she breaks, gasping and out of breath.

Leaning her forehead to yours she whispers, “thank you,” as her hands graze your neck and sides, finally grasping your hips and digging her fingers into your flesh.

Panting, you question, “for what?”

“For tethering me,” she answers, her sultry lips drinking a kiss from your eager mouth. “Also... I love seeing you in this dress and can't wait for you to wear it again.”

You laugh, throwing your arms around her neck and letting her pull you back from the tree. You stumble entwined until almost near the edge of woods and curiously inquire, “why?”

She disentangles from your embrace and reaches up to run her fingers along the neckline of your dress, brazenly brushing her palms across the firm swell of your breasts. She places a hard but chaste kiss on your mouth and with a devilish glint in her eyes she turns and walks toward the B&B. She huskily calls over her shoulder, “because I can't wait to tear it off of you and leave it in that field of flowers.”

Flushed and inflamed, you stumble out of the woods and towards the B&B.

**Author's Note:**

> I've recently picked up pen and set to paper after a long writing hiatus. This "ship" has me inspired and playing with ideas, words, and situations. I welcome comments and suggestions. Thank you.
> 
> **In this particular work I am playing with and attempting to limit dialogue and going for feelings and impressions.


End file.
